THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


,  Vju*  V  « 


LOVE'S   HYMNAL 

SONNETS 

BY 

F.  ROENA  MEDINI 


LOVE'S  HYMNAL 


BY 


F.  ROENA  MEDINI 


CAMBRIDGE,   MASS. 
1896 


Copyright,  1896, 
Bv  F.  ROENA  MEDINI. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


75 


1254183 


T     OVE'S  Hymnal  this,  as  found  on  Cupid's 

J— '    pyre, 

Where  burned  the  hearts  of  hopeless  manhood 

—  age; 

These  tender  plaints,  this  closely  written  page 
Illumined  by  the  gleaming  flames  of  fire, 
Burned  not  away,  but  sang  its  song  to  lyre 
Attuned  to  simple  lay.     O'erlooked  by  sage, 
A  throbbing  heart  there  paused,  as  if  to  gauge 
The  pains  of  others  with  its  own,  —  as  dire 
Misfortune  ever  turns  to  like  for  aid 
In  time  of  need,  —  best  comforted  to  find 
That  others'  pains  are  keener  than  their  own. 
Some  comfort  here  the  lover  found,  nor  stayed 
To  quench  the  flame  that  round  the  altar  twined, 
And  love  hath  since  far  dearer  grown. 


"IV  yf"  Y  love,  my  better  self,  read  line  on  line,  — 
•LVJ.  jt  js  mv  soui  that  speaks,  so,  dear,  fold 

down 

The  leaves  I  send,  to  be  my  heart's  renown. 
Within  the  temple  of  thy  heart,  if  mine 
Hath  raised  with  others  there  a  holy  shrine, 
Am  I  to  hush  my  whispered  prayer,  or  drown 
With  tears  the  arches  high,  at  love's  mute  frown  ? 
If  there  an  alien  I  should  prove,  Oh  !  twine 
The  altar  I  have  raised  with  chaplets  fair, 
To  be  my  tomb,  and  love  the  grave  that  none 
Shall  see,  for  love's  dear  sake.    Imprisoned  there 
I  still  shall  live  as  memory  lives,  to  shine 
Adown  the  pathway  of  thy  life's  decline, 
Till  out  of  death,  again  life's  victory 's  won. 
i 


II 

T  F  my  poor  heart  leaps  forth  in  rhythmed  line, 
-*•    And  lips  dare  breathe  what  fluttering  heart 
throbs  tell, 

Think  not  the  utterance  came  at  birth,  —  or  fell 
From  lips  unwittingly.     Long  time  the  sign 
I  strove  to  stifle  in  my  breast,  —  the  wine 
That  ferments  in  the  darkness  of  its  cell 
Is  not  at  times  more  bitter  in  its  well 
Than  I,  denouncing  this  mad  love  of  mine. 
The  wondering  world  would  say,  full  well  I  know, 
If  once  it  read  the  passion  of  my  soul, 
"  'T  were  late,"  but  not  for  torturing  pains  that 

grow 

To  tempests  that  o'erwhelm  like  bitter  fate.  — 
With  weary  brow  and  heavy  feet,  the  goal 
I  sought  is  known  and  reached,  alas,  too  late. 


llabc's  &nmnal 


III 

AND  if  thy  beating  heart  the  truth  tells  not, 
Believe  no  words  of  mine.     Or  if  they  start 
No  echoing  sigh,  compassion's  weary  part 
I  would  not  ask  of  thee.     Such  mournful  lot 
Were  sadder  than  these  heavy  tears  that  blot 
The  page  whereon  I  write.     If  thy  warm  heart 
Be  dumb  to  throbbing  of  my  own,  apart 
From  tender  pity  that  some  need  begot, 
I  am  no  more  to  thee  than  yonder  moon 
That,  why,  thou  canst  not  tell,  within  thy  breast 
A  sadness  drops,  that  passes  ere  't  is  noon. 
I  am  no  more  than  they,  once  friends,  who  've 

learned 
Thy  bitterness  through  trust  betrayed,  —  more 

blest 
I  'd  be  by  far,  to  know  my  friendship  spurned. 


IV 

OINCE  halting  verse  hath  breathed  this  secret 

^    care, 

Mine  eyes  refuse  to  master  thine.     One  time, 

I  held  thee  so  —  aloof,  and  deemed  it  crime 

In  that  my  pulse  beat  high,  but  now  I  dare 

Not  stir  the  bubble  of  a  thought,  aware 

We  both  must  strive  for  mastery  to  climb 

To  summit  of  a  life  we  'd  make  sublime. 

And  so,  when  thy  dear  eyes  seek  mine,  I  share 

With  thee  thy  thought,  yet  will  not  look  to  read 

Thy  heart's  desire,  lest  that  my  lips  lean  hence 

To  drink  sweet  nectar  with  true  lovers'  greed. 

Sternly  I  set  our  task  with  Art  above 

All    else,   and    hold    in    leash    each   quivering 

sense, 
To  meet  thy  glance  and  chain  with  duty  —  love. 


NOT  joy,  the  cymbals  strike  to  sound  my 
heart. 

To  hymn  my  thoughts,  is  bitterness  the  meed, 
Some  sharply  darting  pain,  the  birth's  sad  need  : 
Some  growing  doubt,  that  I  who  stand  apart 
To  catch  the  glow  of  morn,  denying  Art, 
Have  reached  too  far,  and  so  must  stand  indeed 
With  empty  hands,  which,  pricked  with  thorns, 

do  bleed. 

But  I,  that,  gazing,  felt  the  poisoned  dart 
Sped  from  thine  eyes,  had  gladly  swooned  with 

pain, 

When  trembling  fear  I  had  not  read  aright 
Crept  in  to  strike  a  chill  through  every  vein. 
And  yet  love  turned  no  brighter  page  of  fate 
Than  just  to  love  thee.     7,  to  morning  light 
Awoke  too  soon,  —  and  thou,  awoke  too  late. 


Eofac'd  &nmnal 


VI 

NO  vain  desire  speeds  with  the  flash  of  wit, 
The  sympathies  that  reaching  out  gain 

friends, 
Till  'round  my  woman's  shrine,  there  kneeling 

bends 

A  goodly  company  where  queen  I  sit. 
Each  conquest  made,  on  memory's  tablet  writ, 
Is  thought  of  thee,  and  added  lustre  lends 
To  prove,  in  pleasing  others,  that  amends 
It  makes  for  pleasing  thee,  and  if  I  flit, 
A  restless  bird,  what  better  proof  is  thine 
Than  that  my  heart,  oft  sad,  its  time  beguiles  ? 
If  changed  (I  know  the  art),  thou  ne'er  shalt 

see 

How  deeply  I  may  grieve.    The  bitter  brine 
Of  tears  unshed,  I  '11  hide  beneath  the  smiles 
The  world  found  glad,  because  beloved  by  thee. 


VII 

LAST  night  I  sat  amidst  a  gallant  throng 
When  suddenly,  my  love,  thou  cam'st  to  me 
In  thought !    Thy  presence,  thou,  electric  —  thee, 
In  plenitude  of  will,  as  forceful,  strong. 
Thy  melting  eye  held  mine  a  moment  long, 
No  more  ;  yet  in  that  instant  all  to  thee 
Had  yielded  sway,  and  faint,  I  could  not  see 
The  surging  faces  of  the  crowd.     The  song 
A  graceful  singer  sang,  I  had  not  heard. 
Beside  me,  some  one  spoke,  and  marveled  much 
At  pallor  of  my  face  ;  I  spoke  no  word, 
But  wanly  smiled.     The  spell,  alas,  was  broke. 
A  dream  —  you  were  not  there,  and  oft  from 

such 
A  vision,  sweet  with  pain,  I  am  awoke. 


fenmnal 


VIII 

DEAR  heart,  I  dare  not  dream  of  what  our 
lives 

Might  be,  if  we  were  free  to  love,  we  two, 
As  freely  as  the  earth  loves  sun,  the  dew 
The  flowers,  —  when  at  thy  fancied  coming  strives 
The  soul  for  mastery,  and  almost  rives 
In  twain  the  body  and  its  sense.     To  thee 
Grants  God  my  ardent  soul  enslaved,  and  free 
Or  bound,  as  thine,  nor  life  nor  death  deprives. 
What  then,  if  through  the  temple  of  the  soul 
(Made  meek  by  blights  mankind  can  only  guess) 
There  shone  a  hope  that  heart  to  heart  our  years 
Might  drift  to  peaceful  calm  —  that  tangled  mesh 
Of  life  unraveled,  swift  to  us  appears 
The  blessed  haven  of  that  longed  for  goal. 


ftafar'rf 


IX 

TN  loving  thee  a  little,  can  it  harm  ?  " 

•*-  Saidst  thou  ?   The  guerdon  of  a  love  is  won 

By  risking  all,  by  giving  all.     Not  one 

In  this  wide  world  hath  loved,  if  love's  alarm 

Held  Cupid's  bow  in  bondage,  or  the  warm 

And  beating  heart  its  mercury  limits  run. 

To  flee,  to'  crowd  out  thought,  if  it  be  done 

And  so  to  "  little  love  "  be  dwarfed,  we  arm 

The  will  and  teach  the  heart,  through  chill  of 

world's 

Calm  reasoning,  that  love  can  buy  or  this, 
Or  that,  where  Fate  rules  all.     When  she  unfurls 
The  scroll  whereon  is  writ  thy  name  and  mine, 
Shall  we  there  find  a  withered  rose  to  kiss 
With  tears,  or  deathless  tendrils,  love  doth  twine  ? 


ilabc's 


WHEN  first  the  fingers  of  our  hands  had 
yet 

But  touched,  I  felt  from  thine  electric  stream 
Like  lava  through  each  limb.    My  thoughts  which 

teem 

With  fancies,  much  I  blamed,  and  strictly  set 
Unbending  watch  o'er  folly,  which,  to  let 
Unchidden  go,  disgraced,  I  thought,  the  dream 
I  held  of  noble  womanhood.     The  beam 
Of  thy  soft  eye  with  loyalty  I  met 
My  duty  done,  no  thought  could  e'er  intrude  ; 
Yet  when  emotion  in  our  hearts  awoke 
Again,  I  chided  mine,  and  said  :   "  Be  still, 
There 's  danger  here  for  him.    My  sufferings  rude 
Must  not  o'ercast  his  spirit  'gainst  my  will." 
And  so,  my  heart  I  on  my  honor  broke. 


10 


XI 

T  T  7HEN  intuition  taught  me  that  to  gain 
*  •     Sweet  peace,  thy  heart  waged  struggles 

fierce,  there  waked 
No  thought  of  self.      For   thee  my  peace  was 

staked, 

As  guerdon  of  the  wish  to  save  you  pain. 
But  what  of  self  ?    I  sought  the  path  in  vain. 
When  o'er  my  lips  the  anxious  flood  escaped 
In  sentences  half  formed,  or  voice  enlaked 
In  tears,  that  years  of  grief  had  left  like  rain, 
Unwept,  thine  eyes,  true  mirrors  of  thy  soul, 
Cried  out  to  me,  "  Thou  for  thyself  dost  plead." 
But  when  my  lips  had  tremblingly  turned  mute, 
Thou  saidst,  "  Give  speech  unto  our  souls,  to  roll 
The  stone  away  and  chide,  is  like  a  lute, 
And  sweet  as  praise,  what  wots  if  I  take  heed." 


ii 


XII 

TO  chide  I  feared,  for  in  my  heart  there  grew 
So  swift  a  consciousness  of  love,  —  delayed 
Till  now,  I  shrank  within  my  soul  dismayed, 
And  coldness   barred    my  heart  from   self,   till 

through 

The  weary  hours  of  night,  no  mother  knew 
More  holy  longings,  nor  more  humbly  prayed, 
Than  I  for  thee,  whate'er  thy  life  essayed. 
Again  we  stand  unveiled  to  each,  and  true 
As  magnets,  sweep  our  souls  in  one,  for  time 
Eternal,  and  through  space.   Yet,  gathering  force, 
We  utter  words  belying  speech  of  eyes  : 
Our  honor  staked  'gainst  love,  we  know  no  course 
Beside,  and  bondsmen  to  ourselves,  arise 
To  stem  the  passion  of  a  love  sublime. 


12 


XIII 

WHAT    though    my  pulses    thrilled    like 
mighty  flame, 

That  seething  round  half  blinded  me,  I  held 
At  bay  the  prayer  within  thine  eyes,  —  impelled 
By  powers  above,  beyond  —  who  knows  ?    (The 

same 

Hath  guided  us  o'er  pitfalls  deep,  we  came 
Upon  all  unaware,  when,  still  upheld 
By  powers  unseen,  the  raging  storm  is  quelled, 
Before  we  Ve  asked  for  strength  through  heavenly 

name.) 

In  vain !    I  stood  confessed  unto  my  soul, 
That  nothing  stood  between  my  life  and  thee, 
But  just  so  much  of  doubt  that  might  be  sin, 
To  give  thus  much,were  meant  to  give  the  whole, 
And  then  no  more  to  self,  denied,  "  to  be  " 
Was  written  on  my  heart,  and  burned  therein. 


XIV 

WHAT  greeting  shall  be  given  thee,   my 
own, 

When,  listening  rapt,  I  hear  thy  step,  and  think 
That  all  the  world  has  heard  the  sound  to  link 
Its  bounding  echo  with  my  changed  tone  ? 
Shall  I  so  steel  my  looks  that  thou  alone 
Canst  note  the  blood   from  out    my  lips  doth 

sink 

To  level  of  my  heart,  and  o'er  its  brink 
The  throbs    rebound    till,  'gainst    my  temples 

grown 

To  thousand  anvils,  I  but  hear  my  voice 
An  icy  tone,  that  utters  civil  words 
In  phrases  rounded  well  for  other  ears  ? 
So,  greeting  thee,  my  inward  sense  as  birds 
Made  tremulous,  there  rests  no  other  choice, 
And  opposite  of  that  I  am,  appears. 


XV 

if  thy  coming  find  me  quite  alone, 
And,  unaware,  I  ope  the  door  to  find 
Thee  there  enframed,  and  flame  of  joy  behind 
The  slower  courtesy  of  speech,  upthrown, 
Leaps  forth  from  shining  eyes,  they  swift  atone 
By  hiding  in  such  offices  the  mind 
Conceives  to  mask  itself,  —  a  spool  to  wind, 
To  drape  a  curtain,  —  this  or  that,  till  grown 
More  calm,  mine  eyes  can  look   in  thine  and 

speak 

Of  trivial  things,  as  if  't  were  they,  not  thee, 
Made  up  my  sum  of  life, — or  else,  turned  weak, 
I  scarcely  dare  give  speech,  lest  lips  too  bold 
Such    truths    shall    yield,    I    stand    unveiled, 

and  be 
Unworthy  thee,  and  all  thy  heart  may  hold. 


XVI 

\T  7"  HEN  oft  the  longing    for  thy  presence 

^  *       sweeps 

Like  chilly  blast  across  my  aching  heart, 
And,  throbbing  to  its  core,  all  else  is  part 
Of  chaos,  standing  still  in  icy  deeps 
Of  space,  wherein  Time's  dial  mutely  weeps, 
Refusing  more  to  move,  since  we  apart 
Must  stand,  —  in  visions  comest  thou,  to  start 
The  universe  in  rhythmic  beat,  .  .  .  upleaps 
My  soul  to  rest  in  thine  its  piteous  care, 
And  once  again,  by  vision  pacified, 
I  mingle  with  the  world,  speak  light,  am  gay, 
And  teach  my  heart  it  illy  does  to  wear 
A  grief  that  burns  earth's  uses  from  my  day,  — 
But  swift  returned,  my  grief  is  magnified. 


16 


Eobr's' 


XVII 

WHAT  though  thy  tenderness  like  cloak 
enfold 

Me  round,  and  soft  as  dew  thy  kisses  fall 
Upon  my  face  ?  my  doubting  heart  must  call 
It  pity's  proof,  not  love's,  thy  heart  doth  hold, 
Lest  ardor  of  my  own,  which,  grown  too  bold, 
Interpretations  make,  and  wrong  to  all 
The  rarer  tenderness  thy  speech  let  fall, 
Begot  by  no  such  flame  as  mine,  —  if  told 
At  morn,  at  noon,  at  night  thy  love,  —  if  held 
The  idol  of  thy  heart,  I  still  these  fears 
Must  court,  that,  self-deceived,  thou  lov'dst  me 

not. 

And  so,  't  is  best  this  love  of  mine  (impelled 
As  flowers  to  hide  when  noonday's  sun  appears), 
Beyond  the  joy  of  loving  thee,  —  asks  nought. 


Kobe's 


XVIII 

T  T  7HEN  first  my  mocking  lips  were  brushed 

*  *       by  thine 

More  soft  than  breezes  kiss  the  flowers  at  morn, 
I  know  not  how  my  life  awoke  newborn ; 
Within  thy  arms,  thy  lips  enshrined  in  mine, 
I  had  forgot,  and  blushed,  that,  like  a  vine, 
I  clung  to  thee  as  if  to  part  had  torn 
Love's  rapture  from  my  heart.    So  long  I  'd  worn 
The  mask  indifference,  that  to  now  incline 
My  head  unto  thy  will,  and  on  thy  breast 
To  sudden  trembling  take,  was  yielding  quite. 
But  brief  such  dream  to  woman,  who  awakes 
To  danger  of  her  love.     For  her  the  test, 
To  rise  to  strength,  and  from  such  joy  take  flight 
For  her  is  left  the  pain  brief  rapture  makes. 


18 


ILobc's'  ??nmual 


XIX 

AT  Venice,  in  the  centuries  now  past, 
Near  entrance  to  the  Doge's  palace,  stood 
A  lion,  'twixt  whose  lips,  for  worldly  good, 
The   people  placed  each  plaint  or  prayer.  .  .  . 

Thou,  cast 

Before  the  palace  of  my  heart,  as  fast 
The  secrets,  mute  as  he,  receiv'st  my  brood 
Of  plaints,  my  vows,  my  prayers,  that,  often  sued, 
Outnumber  drops  within  the  ocean  vast. 
Swift  on  thy  ruby  lips  with  blessings  kissed 
Is  laid  my  prayer,  with  repetitions  soft, 
And  then  I  speed  away  with  guilty  face, 
As  they,  too,  sped  from  urgent  prayer,  which  oft 
Had  wronged  their  gracious  rights  withal ;  but 

list, 
Still  unrepentant,  here  my  prayer  I  place. 


XX 

WHEN  once  thy  hand  outreached  sought 
mine,  awaked 

By  tenderness,  my  own  poor  hand  crept  in, 
And  like  a  rose  with  folded  leaves,  its  thin 
And  taper  fingers,  that  full  long  had  ached 
To  know  such  loving  joy,  lay  still  and  slaked 
Their  burning  thirst  for  loving  touch  therein, 
Till,  pulses  calmed,  no  fluttering  bird  within 
Its    nest  could   fold   its   weary  wings   (though 

waked 

Ere  dawn)  with  gentler  restfulness.     My  hand 
Since  then  hath  grown  more  gentle  to  mankind, 
Hath  seemed  as  if  for  lofty  purpose  planned. 
In  other  grasp  it  hath  not  long  remained, 
As  if  once  sanctified,  it  shrank  to  find 
Itself  in  heedless  clasp  o'ermuch  detained. 


20 


iLofar's" 


XXI 

"\  T  THEN  first  I  knew  thee,  swiftly  words  of 

•  •       praise 
My  lips   would   pass,   as    men    give    praise   to 

men;  — 

Or  women,  each  to  each,  now  and  again 
Will  frankly  praise  a  son's,  a  father's  ways» 
Quite  innocent  of  deeper  sense  than  weighs 
Beneath  our  idlest  words.     I  found  that  when 
We  least  expect,  love's  fetters  hide,  and  then 
Are  welded  fast  through  all  our  future  days. 
Since  when,  I  scarce  can  say  thy  name,  so  fast 
My  pulses  bound,  and  others  chance  in  speech 
To  say  or  this,  or  that  of  thee.  —  To  frame 
Thy  praise  I  coldly  speak,  or  seek  to  cast 
Aside  the  consciousness  of  love,  to  reach 
That  calm  control  indifference  may  claim. 


21 


XXII 

/"T"*HOU  hast  assured  me  oft  I  need  not  fear 
-*-     Thy   loss,    and  yet,   'twixt   thought   and 

speech  there  lies 

The  subtle  field  interpretation.  —  Wise 
And  chosen  words  mislead  the  heart,  a  tear 
Belies  a  phrase,  and  so,  grown  glad  while  near, 
When  gone,  swift  fears  that  I  mistook  thee  rise 
Like  haunting  ghosts,  and  then  within  me  dies 
The  comfort  thou  hadst  left.     My  duty  clear, 
Again  I  chide  my  heart  for  loving  thee, 
Lest  that  I  lay  upon  thy  spirit  aught 
Of  weight  that  draws  unto  itself  a  sigh, 
A  tear,  nay  any  melancholy  thought 
That  might  in  loving  service,  bold  and  free, 
More  happily  be  given  were  I  not  nigh. 


22 


XXIII 

TF  I  do  wrong  my  love  and  thee,  to  sow 
-*•  Such  unbelief,  an  abnegation  this 
Of  love's  great  joy,  —  sorely  its  good  I  miss  ; 
Yet,  placing  far  away  the  hopes,  't  is  so 
An  adamantine  wall  'gainst  bitterer  blow 
Of  disappointment.    But  I  love  thee,  —  kiss 
Thee  as  my  spirit's  good,  and  feel  such  bliss 
Must  overtop  by  far  a  worldly  show 
Of  reasoning.     I  love  thee  !     Love  thou  me. 
But  love  me  as  thou  lov'st  the  sun,  —  no  less 
Thine  own,  if  missed  a  day,  and  wakes  no  fear 
Its  beams  will  fail  to  shine  again  on  thee. 
Or,  love  me  as  thou  lov'st  the  stars,  that,  near 
Or  far,  do  glow  with  tender  watchfulness. 


gggmnal 


XXIV 

AND  how,  my  heart  of  hearts,  shall  I  love 
thee  ? 

What  plenitude  of  words  could  tell  thee  how, 
And  never  falter,  never  err.     I  vow 
My  love,  and  yet  the  pictured  speech,  I  see 
When  done,  hath  outlined  merely.     Drawn    as 

free 

As  artist's  hand,  but  still  I  must  allow 
'T  would  fit  a  hundred  loves  that  humbly  bow 
Before  the  throne  of  Cupid.     Mine  must  be 
I  know  not  what,  —  the  gladness  of  the  spheres, 
The  sadness  of  the  grave,  —  the  light  of  heaven, 
The  pains  of  hell.     The  joyous  laugh,  —  the  tears 
That  ope  the  floodgates  of  the  soul,  the  songs 
Of  tenderness  and  mirth,  the  fears  that  leaven 
Every  bliss,  and  trust  which  rights  all  wrongs. 


24 


XXV 

T    LOVE  thee  with  the  childlike  faith  of  one 
J-    Believing  God,  —  with  purity  that  shines 
Above  an  angel's  brow  ;  with  love  that  binds 
Our  hearts  in  simpler  deeds  of  life,  that  run 
On  level  of  its  arduous  duties  done.  — 
Its  talks,  its  walks,  the  glance,  the  sigh,  it  finds 
Swift  sympathies  in  each.  —  A  love  that  blinds 
Us  so,  we  scarce  beneath  its  dazzling  sun 
Can  choose  the  path,  for  O,  I  love  thee  too 
With  woman's  struggling  heart,  whom  love  doth 

wound 

Till  oft  she  falters  o'er  the  brink  of  wrong 
For  him  who  doth  her  heart's  desire  imbue, 
And  right  for  God.   What  more  but  to  be  strong  ? 
For  love  debased,  alas,  is  love  uncrowned. 


Eobc'S 


XXVI 

IN  all  the  years  I  lived,  not  knowing  thee, 
Amidst  my  griefs  there  dwelt  a  soulful  sight, 
Upholding  me  as  one  that  seeth  a  light. 
There  waked  no  sound,  unthrilled  from  thee  to 

me, 

No  sadness  could  I  know,  that  'neath  it,  free 
As  chimes  of  bells,  did  not  thy  coming  bright 
Ring  out.  How  could  my  griefs  bring  blight 
When  it  was  writ  thy  light  mine  eyes  should 

see ! 

Philosophy  hath  bitter  laws ;  we  grow, 
And  reach,  and  yearn  for  what  we  scarcely  know ; 
Then  Cupid,  perching  unaware,  his  tip 
Speeds  forth,  to  shatter  castles  high  as  air. 
So  strong,  grave  science  hath  no  art  nor  care 
To  fill,  yet  Cupid's  bow  the  whole  can  trip. 


26 


XXVII 

WHEN,  years  agone,  a  sudden  oenscious 
thought 
Passed  through  thy  mother's  heart  th'  unwritten 

word, 

I  bless  the  quickened  pulse  that  in  her  stirred 
The   knowledge   of    thy    sacred    charge,    which 

naught 
But  God's  own  will  could  her  gainsay ;  where 

aught 

That  blessed  or  beautified  her  sight,  or  bird 
That  soared,  each  glorious  song  or  sound   she 

heard 

Was  cherished  for  the  sake  of  life  she  sought 
To  nourish  with  her  being's  tenderest  care. 
I  bless  her  for  her  daily  thoughts  that  grew 
To  hopeful  love ;  I  bless  her  for  the  dreams 
She  wove  into  the  garb  she  'd  have  thee  wear. 
I  can  but  think,  of  all  the  brood  she  knew, 
Thy  advent,  rich  with  love,  the  dearest  seems. 
27 


Hgmnal 


XXVIII 

I  LOVE  the  earth  whereon  thy  shadow  's  laid, 
The  sun  that  kisses  thee,   the  moon  that 

peeps 

Into  the  casement  where  my  loved  one  sleeps. 
I  love  the  book  wherein  the  letters  fade 
That  bear  the  name  thy  boyish  ringers  made. 
I  love  the  ivory  which  forever  keeps 
The  impress  of  thy  staying  touch,  or  leaps 
'Neath  mine  to  hopeful  sounds,  when,  sore  afraid, 
I  sighed  that  only  these  remain  to  me. 
I  love  a  voice  in  certain  tearful  song, 
Grown  sacred  since  one  day  it  spoke  of  thee. 
And  should  the  grave  cast  o'er  thee  noisome 

breath, 

I  'd  love  the  mound  that  sheltered  thee,  and  long 
To  meet,  while  blessing  it,  th'  embrace  of  death. 


28 


XXIX 

I  BLESS  the  maidens  who  have  loved  thee 
well, 

(I  cannot  blame  the  ones  who  tempted  thee). 
Each  rose-leaf  round  thy  footsteps  cast  must  be 
The  memories  tender,  whose  sweet  perfume  tell 
The  fateful,  dearest  love  that  thee  befell, 
Was  last  among  the  roses  on  its  tree. 
It  with  rare  fragrance  hung  there  lovingly, 
A  little  shook  by  storms  that  sweep  the  dell, 
A  trifle  pale  from  tears  the  night  doth  start ; 
But  when,  at  look  of  thine,  it  blushed  again, 
New  life  suffused  its  ardent  veins,  and  leaf 
By  leaf  the  history  of  sweet  love's  belief 
Is  written  softly  there,  with  Cupid's  dart, 
And  waits  alone  for  thy  dear  heart's  Amen. 


29 


XXX 

IF  these  my  written  words,  with  love  aglow, 
Were  all  that  in  thy  life  remained  of  me, 
I  wonder  if  thy  heart,  at  last  set  free, 
Might  not  forget  ?    Then  be  it  so ! 
What  greater  praise  than  that  the  notes  that  grow 
More  sweet  with  love  awake  thy  heart,  and  be 
Forgot  the  singer,  not  the  song  ?    When  we 
Give  love,  and  ask  no  counterpart,  we  know 
The  joy  of  worship  is  our  recompense. 
When  joy's  sweet  pain  outlives  its  parent  stem, 
As  must  the  thorn  outlive  the  fragrant  rose, 
Full  oft  the  fragrance  o'er  our  dreaming  sense 
Will  swift  recall  the  happier  day,  and  so 
Be  born  that  perfect  peace,  love's  diadem. 


XXXI 

TF  I  remained  content  to  hear  thy  name, 

-*•  To  see  thee  pass  afar,  though  thou  mightst 

yearn 

To  see  my  face,  thou  soon  unmoved  wouldst  turn 
Away  without  a  sigh.     It  is  the  same 
With  graves  we  pass   each  day:  when  sorrow 

came, 

The  mourner  grieved ;  accustomed  grief  will  burn 
And  sear  the  heart,  till  much  alike,  we  learn, 
Is  sad  indifference,  which,  to  gentler  frame, 
We  call  the  "  healing  o'er  of  time."    Farewell ! 
Necessity  to  part  is  ever  sad, 
Yet  worse  the  love  that  of  the  grave  hath  breath. 
So  then  I  flee,  when  to  have  stayed,  with  glad 
And  tender  touches  of  thy  hand  to  tell 
Of  love,  were  bliss  ;  to  go,  a  living  death. 


XXXII 

ALAS,  alas,  for  youth's  dear  sake,  I  ought 
Not  sing  such  sad  refrain,  but  guide  my 

song 

Until,  triumphant,  it  might  ring  so  strong 
That  heaven  would  echo  to  the  gladness  caught. 
No  life  so  sad  it  hath  not  light  inwrought 
With  sombre  woof ;  no  heart  so  dead,  the  wrong 
It  suffered  may  not  hope  reward.    The  long 
And  dreary  road  hath  aye  an  end,  and,  sought 
Or  anxiously  evaded,  death  will  free 
The  soul  from  endless  striving  'gainst  a  fate 
We  vainly  seek  through  life  to  subjugate, 
With  hope  to  grow  in  attributes,  that,  done 
With  earth,  the  higher  joys  of  heaven  will  be 
Conceded  recompense  for  perils  run. 


ILobc'S 


XXXIII 

T  WONDER,  if  beholding  me  thus  worn 
•••  And  shaken  with  the  weary  years,  a  tear 
Will  not,  beneath  thine  eyelids,  dim  thy  dear 
And  kindly  sight ;  and  if  so  loved,  though  born 
To  less  of  joy  than  all  the  world,  my  torn 
And  bleeding  heart  were  not  repaid  the  fear 
It  held,  by  thee  forgot,  that  year  by  year 
Must  heavier  prove  than  could  be  easy  borne  ? 
Nay,  nay,  I  would  not  have  thy  love  at  cost 
So  dear  to  thee ;  that  I  be  tempest-toss'd, 
It  is  enough,  and  better  far  the  thought, 
To  stand  aside,  if  thou  wert  passing  by, 
To  gather  to  my  heart  the  pain  it  brought, 
Remain  unseen,  and  bless  thee  with  each  sigh. 


33 


XXXIV 

ONE  time  I  thought,  when  griefs  grew  old, 
my  face 

Would  claim  again  its  tender  outlines,  glow 
With  all  the  light  that  once  reflected  so 
The  happiness  within ;  for  oft  the  grace 
Of  years  may  softer  beauty  interlace 
Than  youth  hath  ever  known ;  but  though  my  woe 
Be  banished  from  my  face,  and  waking  grow 
To  brightness  with  the  interests  of  our  race, 
Asleep,  the  angel  Sorrow  draws  her  lines 
Deep  in  wherever  she  hath  cast  her  shade, 
And  only  grief  remains.     At  morn  the  brines 
Of  bitter  tears  hath  washed  therein  so  deep, 
Nor  youth  nor  hope,  one  vestige  more  doth  keep, 
And  joy  handmaiden  of  dire  woe  is  made. 


34 


XXXV 

WHEN  some  one  spake  thy  name,  to  say, 
"  He  comes," 

My  soul  took  courage ;  yet,  last  night,  so  dark 
The  way,  I  wondered  how,  with  not  a  spark 
Of  light  about  my  path,  no  meagre  crumbs 
Of  comfort,  I  could  bear  this  grief  that  numbs 
The   heart  to  common  joy.      Death,  grim   and 

stark, 

Holds  not  the  dread  that  loveless  life  doth  mark 
The  years  withal ;    so,   when   they  said,  "  He 

comes," 

I  joyed,  although  I  wished  my  weary  face 
Might  be  forever  hid,  as  one  long  dead : 
Remembered  ever  with  its  youth,  its  light, 
And  rosy  tints ;  remembered  with  no  trace 
Of  age  or  care ;  beloved  because  so  bright, 
Not  cherished  for  the  beauty  that  has  fled. 


35 


XXXVI 

IN  all  the  shipwrecks  of  earth's  stormy  life, 
Thine  eyes  still  beam  the  beacon  o'er  its  sea. 
When  others  fail,  thou,  steadfast,  art  to  me 
God's  truth,  the  gleam  of  sun  that  'midst  the 

strife 

Doth  light  my  path  when  bitter  doubts  are  rife. 
When  all  seems  false  and  hollow,  then  I  see 
Thy  face,  I  feel  thy  touch,  and  know  in  thee 
Those  virtues  which  true  manhood  claims  ;  thy 

life 

The  one  just  thing  that  weary  days  have  known, 
The  rest  as  false  as  happiness  we  dress 
The  face  withal,  or  smiles  one  scatters  round 
To  hide  the  wounds  that  bleed  within,  now  grown 
Too  old  and  deep  for  surgeon's  knife  to  sound. 
I  thank  thee,  love,  for  Faith's  sweet  happiness. 


XXXVII 

WHEN  through  me  thrilled  the  conscious 
ness  of  power 

To  move  in  thee  emotions  that  thy  glance 
Alone  could  wake,  I  shuddered  at  the  chance 
Temptation,  seeking  to  dispel  the  hour 
Of  glamour  which  too  ardent  souls  o'erpower, 
I  scarce  dared  touch  thy  hand  when  in  the  dance 
We  moved  to  rhythm  sweet  that  e'er  enhanced 
The  wondrous  charm.     "  Not  love,  true  love,  my 

dower, 

How  could  he  find  in  this  world-beaten  shell 
The  ideal  love  a  poet  seeks  ?     I  wield 
Some  power,  perhaps,"  I  mused,  "  yet  time  would 

tell 

How  fleeting  transient  passion's  reign  can  be," 
And  worldly  wise,  I  saw,  but  would  not  yield ; 
Yet  futile  all  my  struggles  to  be  free  ! 


37 


XXXVIII 

PR  when  we  sing  I  see  the  blood  recede 
From  out  thy  face,  my  own  to  follow  it, 
A-vibrate  with  the  thrilling  tones  that  flit 
From  note  to  note,  soul-stirred  by  words  that 

lead 

To  sense  of  sad  farewell.     The  sudden  need 
Of  strength  breaks  o'er  my  heart.     Aroused,  I 

sit, 

Thy  critic  stern,  —  a  word,  rebuke,  admit 
No  faltering,  till  back  we  're  swept  and  freed 
From  slumbering  passion  that  would  overleap 
Control.      O   dreaming    hearts,   back,   back   to 

earth, 

Hypocrisy,  to  falsehood,  which  sweet  eyes 
Gainsay,  but  spell  me  not  with  lovers'  sighs 
To  ask  if  I  do  love,  or  else  I  keep 
The  truth  in  leash,  denying  Cupid's  birth ! 


XXXIX 

I   SAID,  "  To  part  is  better  for  us  both  ;  " 
Yet,   love,  while  granting   danger,  great  to 

thee, 

What  boon  in  all  this  life  is  left  to  me 
So  sweet  as  tender  love,  whose  daily  growth 
I  battled  with  all  laws  of  mind,  and  loath 
To  yield  e'en  then,  I  fled  because,  to  see 
Thee  knowing  it  a  wrong,  could  never  be, 
The  purer  love  we  'd  choose  to  give  in  oath. 
Is  it  enough  that  thou  canst  see  beneath 
This  outward  form  of  me  some  flame 
Akin  to  thine,  though  worlds  would  mate  us  not  ? 
If  sometimes  selfish  earth's  desires  bequeath 
The  pains  of  longings  vain,  they  only  came 
To  prove  (when  overcome)  their  blessed  lot. 


39 


XL 

THE  joyous  bells  of  hope  and  deathless  love 
Are  waked  this  morn  to  sound  such  ring 
ing  songs, 

I  scarce  can  spell  the  one  that  most  belongs 
To  calmer  beat  of  love's  repose.     Above 
Their  broken  music,  like  a  restful  dove, 
My  heart  in  gladness  sweet  with  memory  throngs, 
Forgetting  quite  the  bitterness  and  wrongs 
That  Fate  heaped  high  to  check  true  love. 
Mine  own,  when  glad  I  read  the  crowded  page 
Whereon  thy  love  and  hopelessness  doth  wage, 
I  am  not  saddened  by  the  maze  of  pain 
That  tripped  our  wary  feet ;  if  they  deceived 
Two  earnest  hearts,  't  is  past,  and  ours  the  gain, 
Believing,  and  regretting  not  that  we  believed. 


40 


XLI 

WHEN  thou  art  nigh,  I  have  no  words,  no 
speech, 

For  swiftly  chasing  thoughts ;  I  only  know 
That  thou  art  mine  for  space  so  brief,  I  throw 
Away  much  tender  joy  within  my  reach, 
In  dread  of  that  grim  spectre  who  to  each 
Will  swiftly  come  and  say,  "  'T  is  time  to  go." 
And  then,  thou  gone,  my  thoughts  with  tumult 

grow 
To  words  I  might  have  said  when  eyes  could 

teach 

My  meaning,  or  thy  lips  with  swifter  kiss 
Had  sealed  my  own  with  "  Yes,  I  understand." 
O  love,  my  king,  thou  knowest  this,  all  this, 
That  love  is  deathless  'midst  the  chaos  life. 
Nor  reasoning  cold,  philosophy,  nor  strife 
Can  bury  love,  or  love  withstand. 


Lobe'6  Dumnal 


XLII 

DOUBT  thou  a  love  that  fears  the  sun, 
Or  shames  itself    to  speak  thus  heart  to 

heart, 

But  not  of  love  that  hath  no  thought  apart 
From  thee.     Each  heart-beat  of  the  past  was 

one 

Of  longing  for  the  joy  that  is,  —  we  run 
The  gauntlet  of  emotions  that  up  start 
Alert  to  recognize  dear  Cupid's  dart, 
But  how  atone  for  wrong  that  has  been  done 
When  errant  Fancy  left  sore  wounds  behind  ? 
Let  cautiousness  o'ermatch  the  cunning  jade,  — 
If  we  mistook  for  love  her  thin  disguise. 
Evaded  and  unsought  came  love  when  Cupid 

blind, 

Unmindful  of  his  mark,  the  murderer  played 
And  pinioned  us,  midst  tears  and  sighs. 

NO 

42 


Iotoe'0 


XLIII 

AS  on  the  threshold  of  fruition  sweet, 
I  pause,  and  question  yet,  if  right  toward 

thee, 

How  stubborn  dual  egos  are  to  free 
From  doubt  the  aye  and  nay  my  heart  must 

meet. 

Can  love's  great  boon  be  realized,  nor  fleet 
The  happiness  once  disbelieved  ?     In  fee, 
One  might  accept  a  taste  of  joy ;  but  see 
The  goal  too  dear  to  hope  in  dreams,  I  greet 
Its  semblance  with  a  doubt. 

Forgive,  O  love, 

Long  time  it  is,  since  in  the  spirit,  thine 
I  vowed  myself,  take  also  thou  the  blame 
Of  holding  me,  as  I  hold  thee.    The  dove 
Of  Peace,  in  loving  trust,  our  hearts  shall  tame, 
And  earth  a  heaven  become  in  life's  decline. 


43 


Lane's  hpmnal 


XLIV 

LOVE  wedded,   adds  to  sleep  the  blissful 
sense 

Of  Presence,  and  the  heart  o'er-full  oft  wakes 
To  joy  in  joy,  or  midway  slumb'ring,  takes 
A  gladsome  comfort  stretching  thence 
A  hand  inertly,  sleepily  where  dense 
The  darkness  lies,  to  touch,  as  light  as  flakes 
Of  snow,  the   dear  one's  cheek,  who  mayhap, 

wakes, 

Or,  sleeping  still,  imprints  the  seal  intense 
Of  lips'  devotion,  or  detains  the  hand 
With  loving  replications  of  its  touch, 
As  if  to  say,  "  God  bless  thee,  dear,  't  is  planned 
That  sleeping,  waking,  or  in  death,  thus  much 
Thou  knowest  well,  through  this  unerring  bond, 
Shall  each  to  each  our  soul's  pure  love  respond." 


44 


Lote's 


XLV 

AND  I,  grown  fonder  with  the  years  and  thee, 
Must  wonder  that  the  dial  Time,  so  swift 
With  griefs  for  others,  yet  has  left  no  rift 
In  summer  of  our  hearts.     I  feared  to  be 
Content ;  to  find  myself  thus  truly  free 
To  love,  and  be  so  loved.     That  I  may  lift 
A  thankful  heart,  receive  the  treasured  gift 
And  call  it  wholly  mine,  is  marvel  glad, 
And  so  I  hold  my  happiness  in  trust, 
Half  fearing  that,  like  angel  visitant, 
It  prove  as  brief.     This  joy,  if  I  make  sad 
With  less  than  heaven's  confidence,  I  must 
Deny  its  God  and  sin,  —  a  militant. 


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